Category Archives: parenting

Two days before we flew to North Carolina for Christmas, I was a sniveling, sad mess. Our dear friends had visited us — one of whom I’ve known for more than 20 years — and we had said our goodbyes, which left me feeling oddly bereft.

Earlier that day, we went to the Los Angeles zoo — me and the three boys; my friends and their 3-year-old daughter — and I pushed it with L., who was yawning on the ride down. I knew I was tempting fate (never mess with a 2-year-old’s nap), but I didn’t know he’d turn quickly into a bellowing terror. He was a screaming tyrant by the time we were saying “hi” to the gorillas, throwing apples with tremendous force, thrashing his body around and running away from me. I blocked out the side-eye glances from the other spectators, but all of my energy seeped out of my body.

By that evening, I felt wrecked. It didn’t help that I hadn’t run in three weeks or that I wasn’t eating well and had gained a few pounds. It didn’t help that I drank one too many the night before, which is rare for me now. It didn’t help that I was anxious about showing our friends a good time and that I felt sad when they left because I miss banter with people who get me. It didn’t help that I had seen their happiness and realized I was missing mine.

I broke down and wet A.’s chest with my tears. I was sad. Depleted. Exhausted. Uninspired. Lonely. (A. said, “Remember when we had one kid? Life was easier.”)

The meltdown was enough to nudge me into action, and start with the basics, which often get ignored when you’re a mom — especially a mom of three under 7. These are things I always did naturally, but now I have to prioritize.

1. Exercise. This is now my priority above all else — exercise eases my stress and makes me a better mom. It’s my foundation for happiness. I’ve signed up for the San Luis Obispo half marathon at the end of April. Also, I plan to get to some yoga and practice weight training at home.

2. Coffee. I have noticed that if I have more than two coffees, I’m a grump. So my plan is to dial it back to two, no matter how tired I am late in the day. I’m also looking into other fun drinks to replace my habit.

3. Writing. I plan to carve out more time for writing this year as well as reading great writing and finding author talks, which always inspires me.

4. Friends and Community. I’m still figuring out how to tackle this one, because I want more local friends who are positive and inspiring (it’s been hard to find here), and a stronger community vibe. I’ve joined the PTA board, but I need to find another outlet. Indoor soccer? Volunteering? We’ll see.

5. The Arts. New music, new art, great books. These are the things that fill me and feed me. Two places I plan to visit this year are The Getty and The Broad museums. Speaking of — what has inspired you lately?

I know I have to give myself a break — I’ve been in a seven-year fog of either pregnant, baby or toddler soaking up all of my time and demanding more of me than I ever imagined. Now it’s time for me to reclaim my time, for me. This also means not letting social media overtake my mind. No more, “Wait, why did I get on my computer,” or, “Ugh, where did the last 30 minutes go?”

More reading. More healthy cooking. More listening to new music. More exploring. More making friends with people who are excited about life. Because life is beautiful.

When we moved to the Antelope Valley in January, I expected to find all of my resources fairly quickly. A pediatrician I love. A preschool for the boys brimming with laughing children, art projects and books. Neighbors with kids who come over and we sit and drink wine or coffee while they run around the yard.

None of it happened. Turns out, dreamy expectations can disappoint.

In fact, at the first doctor appointment I made for little C. for his 3 year appointment in February, I waited in a tiny, stuffy room filled with coughing kids for TWO HOURS. By the time I saw the doctor, my 7 month old was in hysterics, I was furious, and the doctor was condescending to my boy, asking me, “Can he understand simple instructions?” when little C. didn’t respond to him immediately. I left the office with hungry, weepy kids and I was close to weeping myself.

Then, the first preschool I visited was dirty and dingy and a 4 year old boy was screaming while the teacher looked disheveled and OVER IT. And the school charges $200 per week and I was thinking, “Are you kidding me?”

And all of our neighbors, while mostly kind, are older, their kids are grown and they’re ready to move to escape California taxes in their retirement.

I was depressed over it. I had all three boys in a house that was gutted for renovations, so I had little time for myself and I was struggling to find friends and inspiration. In May, I traveled to the East Coast and said, “I’ll deal with it later.” We were back for a month, and then I traveled to Michigan and said, “I’ll deal with it later.” But I couldn’t put it off, I needed answers — I spent hours on Facebook looking for doctors and preschools and activities and something to make me feel happy about where we live. HOURS.

Also, the elementary school around the corner doesn’t have the greatest of reputations, so I was back and forth on whether to send big C. there. It’s going through a multi-million renovation, school officials rebranded it, and as of this year, it’s a STEAM (science, technology, engineering, arts and math) school of choice (lottery).

My mind was in knots and I felt like I really had to work to be patient to figure it all out. I had to find my niche, especially in a largely conservative bedroom community where people aren’t the friendliest.

Everyone says it takes a year to find your groove in a new city. It was true in Albuquerque, and then I was wistful about leaving.

And now, after 9 months here, I can happily report that everything is starting to fall into place. I’ve found our pediatrician (it’s a 45-minute drive to Valencia, but the office is immaculate, there are separate sick and well waiting rooms, the doctors are kind and smart and the wait is negligible.) After touring six places, I’ve found a preschool (though we’re on the waitlist, I’m hoping to start little C. in January.) Big C. loves school — he’s making friends of all different ethnic and economical backgrounds. It may not be the best school in the world, but at least he’s learning and happy and for now that’s all I care about.

And, most importantly, I may have found a friend who lives — crazy to say — 5 houses away. She has an almost 3 year old and a six year old — perfect ages for my boys. And she’s a former professional dancer who lived in D.C. and NY and whose mom is a professor at the University of Maryland. She showed me a dance that she and her mom choreographed based on German sheet music from the 1920s that’s housed at the university. I left our play date this morning feeling full — finally, FINALLY a friend who’s around the corner.

And A. is almost done with my pottery shop so after a year hiatus, I’m close to reviving that creative energy.

I may not be in the town I want to live in forever, but I do want to make the most of being here and enjoy the access to the ocean, the California sunshine, a cost of living that allows me to soak in my little guys while they’re little and do pottery and work on my writing. Everything has a positive and a negative side — and right now, I’m practicing gratitude and reminding myself of all of the positives of California living.

It happened so fast. And then I was in denial. And then I was excited. But by late fall, we found out that we were moving back to the California desert. In January. After only a year and 1/2 in Albuquerque. Just as I had found a community of cool moms.

Then, we decided to buy a house. First-time homebuyers. You know, to make things easy. We were moving to a market that doesn’t have a lot of rentals. We were moving to a market that plans to add a lot of jobs in the next few years. Interest rates were still low. And I wanted a kiln.

So the week after Thanksgiving, we flew to Palmdale with baby L. and left big C. and little C. with my parents. We found a real estate agent and we decided we’d buy a house that week. The first day, we walked into a house the right size for us with vaulted ceilings and lots of light on a corner lot in the right neighborhood. We knew it would need work, but we said what the hell. Let’s do it. We put in an offer, and we closed within 30 days.

The house, built in 1990, turned out to be more of a fixer-upper than we expected. That first week in town, we stayed in a hotel. We pulled out the carpets; we scrubbed the floors and walls. We demolished the kitchen. We pulled out the bathtub. We laid carpet in the bedrooms. And then we called in A.’s father for emergency help. “We need you,” we said. (And by “we,” I really mean A.)

The second weekend, I drove the boys to my aunt’s and uncle’s house in Atascadero. I teared up when I saw the ocean. It had been a year and a half since I’d seen it — the glorious, vast ocean that makes me feel alive and connected to the earth. And what a year it was — the closest brush I’d ever had with death.

Now, we’re living in a construction zone. I didn’t enroll the boys in preschool since big C. starts kinder in the fall and it’s our last chance for freedom — to not be bound by a schedule. So they’re adjusting to no schedule and a new space. And I’m adjusting to very little “me” time. But we’re exploring our new town. We met my parents in San Diego last week. We can go anywhere and do anything and it feels good.

A. rigged up a sink and we bought all new appliances. It’s livable, but a bit cluttered. All I really want to find is my blender so I can make L. varied baby food. He’s living on banana, sweet potato and baby oatmeal lately. But he just turned 7 months so he’ll be OK.

Dad O. has painted the bedrooms — the boys’ room, the baby’s room, the guest room — and he’s working on the master now. (I had no idea colors were so hard to pick out.)

We’re slowly unpacking. It sounds hectic. It feels like it should be hard, but since I’m not working, I don’t have much stress. A. is doing the bulk of the work (he’s my hero). I put my Etsy shop on hold till I have the space to throw again. I bought a kiln — it arrived today and it will be a while till I try my first firing. But for now, I’m living in the moment with these boys in our new house that we have yet to call “home.” But we will call it that — soon.

“OK, CP, time to clean up!” I say after dinner. “You’re in charge of the Legos.”

“No,” he says with a smile, and then turns in circles, arms out like an airplane. Or he walks away and grabs a toy car and starts pretending it’s zooming on the furniture. And then grins at me with that infuriating glimmer.

“CP,” I say with a sterner tone, pointing at the rug. “Legos.”

This happened three nights in a row. Three nights ago, when his exasperated brother tried to boss CP into cleaning, CP took a heavy wooden car and hit CM in the mouth. CM wailed; I put CP on the couch, and he giggled at me when I told him how unhappy I was and we don’t hit in this house. (I later told A. it was time for me to read up on toddler discipline again, because CP’s personality is so different from CM’s. I default to this woman’s advice, and I’m also going to pull out some of the books on my shelf.)

Two nights ago, when CP wasn’t cleaning after several prompts, A. and I decided to put the Legos away. He put them on top of the fridge, so CP could see them and ask for them.

Yesterday morning, CP was wandering the house.

“Mama, I can’t find the Legos anywhere,” he said in whiny voice, hands up-turned.

“CP, you didn’t clean up last night,” I said. “You don’t get to play with them for a few days.”

He cried for a moment and then said, bottom lip out: “Ohhhh.” It’s tricky because I’m not sure he really gets it yet.

But here’s what I noticed. With the Legos out of sight, the boys got along better. They played in a huge cardboard box we’ve had for two weeks that we turned into a “house.” They giggled and pounded on the box like it was a bongo. Then they jumped into a toy bin and pretended it was a hot air balloon. Later in the morning, I took them on a hike in the Sandia Foothills and they walked on what was left of the snow and jumped in the mud, and CP made up a song that went, “CM, I loooove you.”

The boys don’t need much to be happy. We’re all about simple play. We want to foster their independence, creativity and love of nature. Sometimes the best idea, even though it can feel hard in the moment when they’re upset, is to simply put those toys away.

A few weeks ago, A. and I had a rare dinner alone in Ridgecrest. OK, so it wasn’t alone, CP was with us, but he was still only nursing and would sit in his carseat, watchfully and quietly. We ate at Charlie’s, a bar restaurant with very little ambience — five or six TVs with sports programs, a pool table, high ceilings, cushy chairs on wheels and older patrons. One entire wall was a mirror, and we sat next to it.

An elderly couple came in and sat down across from us. And the woman kept looking over and smiling at CP, who A. was holding up on the table on his wobbly legs, his feet turned inward, his eyes focused on his image in the mirror. I finally smiled back at the woman, and she asked, “How old?” She was in her 70s at least, with curly gray hair and round glasses. Her husband had a hearing aide.

A. wheeled his chair over to their table, with CP on his lap, and they both lit up. It turns out, they were from Albuquerque, N.M., where we think we’d like to move next. And they have several grandchildren.

“Do you have a CD player in your car?” the woman asked us.

Confused, I said yes.

“Our daughter is a children’s singer,” she says. “She sings lullabies that will put your baby to sleep.”

They were on their way to Yosemite, so they were staying in the hotel where the restaurant is.

“Go get some of them,” the woman said to her husband, kindly.

He nodded, and a bit later, he returned with four wrapped albums and an article about their daughter, Susie Tallman, published in the Albuquerque Magazine.

We put the CDs in the diaper bag and thanked them.

On the way home, I popped one in the player, and the first song — Six Little Ducks — was catchy.

Since, we’ve been listening to them — a song here, a song there. The lullabies do not put CP to sleep, as the woman guaranteed they would (in fact, I don’t care for them), but we have found a few songs that move us to our feet, including Five Little Speckled Frogs. The song has gone into our regular rotation, along with songs by the Laurie Berkner Band, Raffi, Elizabeth Mitchell and another new discovery: Johnny Bregar.

Now, every once in a while, CM (who will be three in December) will ask: “Can we listen to Five Speckled Fwogs?”

We turn on our stereo in the living room and act out the song — pretending to sit on a log and shovel delicious flies in our mouths. The joy on CM’s face makes me smile — it’s ridiculously cute. And every time we do it, I think of that couple, who are so proud of their daughter. And I can’t help but think that maybe we’ll see them again, someday.

We had no idea we were about to put C. through boot camp this weekend, but that’s exactly what we did. And, in turn, we got our butts kicked too.

We ditched all diapers. Daytime, nighttime — gone.

And yes, this type of potty training is no joke. I wanted to run to the mountains. I wanted to drink several glasses of wine with a girlfriend. I wanted to go back to the pottery studio and throw pot after pot. And then I wanted to collapse. But I had to watch my little guy’s every move.

It’s MLK day, and C. is in the playroom singing to himself and building Lincoln Logs. I’m drinking a coffee and feeling relieved: the long weekend is almost over and A. will be home from Phoenix later this afternoon.

I was a bit stressed about him leaving — A. spends every weekend morning with C. He handles the night-time baths. He gets home from work around the witching hour, and plays with C. while I cook. (A. often cooks, too.)

This weekend, A. wanted to meet a grad-school friend for a getaway to play golf, watch football and have time to himself before baby no. 2 arrives. And he deserves it.

But at 34 weeks pregnant, I’ve been extra tired and my tolerance for the 2-year-old “I WANT IT!” is diminishing. So letting A. go from Friday afternoon till Monday evening sounded hard. I also don’t have a lot of friends in the desert (not like D.C., anyway), so a long weekend alone with C. sounded even harder.

So I put together a plan. Saturday, C. and I would drive to Lake Isabella and find a farmer’s market and have lunch at the Kernville Brewery (which I have liked in the past). A girlfriend would drive up from LA to hang for the evening, and on Sunday, another girlfriend would come over for dinner.

Over the past three days, here’s what I learned — and this is with just one toddler, not two or more kids, and it’s also while I’m not working.

1. Showering is virtually impossible. At the end of the day, when I usually shower, I had no energy for it (or I had guests). Therefore, A. will come home to a filthy, crusty wife.

2. A few more days of doing this, and I would probably stop making C. clean up after himself (for lack of energy and patience) and he would turn into an oinking pig in a pigpen and I would probably trip and kill myself on Tinker Toys.

3. We don’t watch TV (except for my Downton Abbey indulgence) and we don’t have an iPad, but C. likes to watch videos of himself on my iPhone (am I raising a narcissist?). I generally let him watch videos for a minute or two and then take it away, but I have a feeling if it was just me all of the time, I’d let him watch more. And I might even get an iPad.

4. How, oh how do single parents work full-time and eat healthy, whole grain meals? The one meal we ate out (lunch at the brewery) — chili and a chicken sandwich — made me feel awful after a few weeks of mostly vegetarian low-fat cooking. But cooking is exhausting — I would probably have to eat frozen meals on TV trays every day.

The weekend ended up being really lovely — despite the few meltdowns (C.’s, not mine) and his refusing naps and his sniffles. We pretended we were bears living in a cave and we read books and we went for walks and he gave me kisses and hugs. He even said, “Mama, I miss you” (he must not know what that means). But I can’t wait for A. to get home so I can squeeze him tight and let him know how much I appreciate him.